


The Destiny Thing

by Missy



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Evil Dead (Movies), Evil Dead - All Media Types
Genre: Community: horrorbigbang, Demons, F/M, Humor, Road Trips, Romance, Snark, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-18
Updated: 2011-11-18
Packaged: 2017-10-26 05:50:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/279433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Buffy Summers' life is forever changed by a one night stand with a man who shares a similar destiny with her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Destiny Thing

**Author's Note:**

> Written for HorrorBigBang in 2011. Thank you so much to inferiarecoming for [Creating this amazing mix to go with it!](http://theworlditgoes.livejournal.com/6546.html)

“There’s an axe poking me in my shoulder.”

“Good morning to you too, handsome.”

Ash Williams groaned as he reached behind himself and yanked the – what the hell had the cute blonde tucking herself back into her tank top called it last night in the bar? A scarf? No, that wasn’t right. He reached back and pulled the axe-thing out from under his shoulder and set it up against the cardboard chest of drawers stacked up beside his bed. Task completed, he turned back toward the attractive blonde still dressing herself across the room and battled the temptation to get up and drag her back to his bed, where she’d more than proved she belonged.

Damn, he could still pick them, if he did say so himself. She was smooth-skinned and sweet-faced, if a little low on the tit and height sides. Give her a little time alone with him and a couple of submarine sandwiches and she might shape up to be one hell of a drop-dead beauty.

That drop-dead beauty now stared at the chainsaw he’d mounted over his bed while she put her earrings on. “Doing some home improvements?”

“Nope. I just like the way heavy metal looks over my wood.”

She rolled her eyes at his joke and tied her hair in a loose ponytail. “Kinky,” she said dryly, checking herself again in the mirror. She went on a field-hunt for her high heels, and Ash leaned back against the pillows.

Shit, what was her name?

He remembered little flashes of the previous night when he closed his eyes; nice bar, good jukebox, two hot chicks, a cute blonde shoving the tough blonde into Ash’s arms. Ash wouldn’t have taken his chances with the other blonde, anyway; chick looked like a bubblehead. The blonde was kind of mouthy and very funny, and a thousand times more sober than Ash was when they’d driven back to his motel room. What had transpired had been a fun little bit of horizontal action. It had been so good that he didn’t understand why she was in such a hurry to leave. “Got someplace to be, sugar?”

“Yeah,” she said, checking herself in his mirror once more. “I’ve got an interview at my old school today.”

He raised an eyebrow. Ash had been dispatched to Sunnydale for a grand total of two weeks, and even a total novice such as he knew all about Sunnydale’s major mojo problems when it came to the undead, and that most of it seemed to be centered at the high school. “Catholic schoolgirl, or did you go to Sunnydale?”

“Went to Sunnydale…” she ran his comb through her hair, then glanced back at him. “Do you have a thing for schoolgirls?”

“Nah,” he sat up and watched her roam around his room as if she owned it. “You’ve heard about all of the people who’ve gone missing there.”

Her shoulders stiffened. “It’s a little late to get chivalrous on me, buster,” she declared.

Ash raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t met a woman like her in his time in this little dinkwater California berg; granted, the majority of those hours had been spent chopping the heads off of vampires. The post-death cleanup was easier than living with a hundred spurting Deadite limbs pouring their blood in every direction; he could get away with running a lint comb over himself and being done with it most nights. But a dame she remained, and dames simply lived on empty compliments. Ash spoke with the arrogant voice of experience. “You’re a chick – and chicks always want someone to notice them.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “You’re trying to make a point back there, big boy?”

“Why not?” He smirked at her and tossed his hair. “You look like you’re the kinda girl who could take a guy like me around the world twice.”

She smacked his cheek and his head rocked backward. “Christ!” he yowled, staring right back at her in utter, highly-pained confusion – she’d hurt him more than the usual welterweight blonde might. “What the hell was that for? That was a compliment!”

The girl stood as tall as her miniscule height would allow her. “That was a leer. I know what a leer looks like.”

He smirked. “Leers are compliments too, sugar.”

“Maybe if you’re desperate.” She picked up the axe-thing and slid it into the holster she’d donned. “I know this is your room…I think…”

Ash rolled his eyes and started pulling his boxers on under the covers. He gave her another once-over before yanking his pants from the floor and stepping into them as quickly as he could. “You ain’t done this much, have you, honey?” He wondered. “You’re real confident when it comes to yelling me down, but I can tell when a girl’s comfortable with the ol’ wham-slam-thank-you-Promised-man thing. You’ve been watching me like Mister Happy’s gonna tie itself around your neck.”

The statement made her nose wrinkle up – adorably, he thought to himself, but didn’t voice the notion. “Eww. Thanks for ruining soft pretzels for me.”

“Soft…” He shoved his feet into his hiking boots and stood, an intimidating foot taller than she. “I ain’t no soft pretzel below the belt, honey! This is one hundred percent organic manpower!”

She stared right back up at him. “Your manpower was fun last night. But right now, I’ve got a family to get back to.”

“Woah, you’re married?” He did have some sort of moral code.

She rolled her eyes. “Think Full House, not Roseanne.”

“Huh…Oh…yeah,” he stiffened his spine and swaggered. “Got some extended family. Who doesn’t?”

She rolled her eyes. “Have a good morning, mister tall and hunky. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

“Hey, wait…maybe we could split some waffles!” he offered, yanking his shirt on.

She shook off his metal hand, and declared “My name’s Buffy, by the way,” as she headed out the door. “You should remember it, in case you have to yell for help.”

“Hey, the Promised One doesn’t ask anyone for help!” Ash bellowed, his eyes chasing her down the hallway. But Buffy was out of earshot before he could form a further sentence. Ash raked his metal hand through his messy mop and leaned back against the doorframe. He had a full day of looking for work ahead for him – one that probably wasn’t going to be as easy as flirting with a pretty blonde stranger in a bar and dragging her back to his chintzy motel room had been the night before.

***

Buffy double-checked her hair in the shiny glass of the Albatross Diner before she crossed its threshold. Late for her interview, she was somewhat later now in meeting her friends and mentor for a celebratory post-interview snack. She hoped that Giles wouldn’t notice how late she was – a futile wish, as he watched her progress through the door.

Her crew was weary but gleefully stuffing their faces as they waited for her to put in an appearance; Xander was all but making out with a stack of buttermilk pancakes, while Dawn had her apple buttered stacks piled in an even line and was deconstructing them with fervor. Willow sat beside them, watching them with a mixture of nausea and bemusement. Giles’ vaguely disproving expression was trained on Buffy as she pushed the glass front door open and shot the entire group a bemused smirk, his tea untouched.

Willow sprung from her “There you are! How did it go? Are you feeling okay? Let me get you some pancakes…”

She winced. “It was fine. I just…went for a long walk.” She eyed Dawn and the pile of scattered homework she had abandoned beside the pile of food . “How was school?”

“It was there.” She took a gulp of milk. “Isn’t there any kind of spell we could do to get rid of that?”

“Not unless you want to attend the queen of the training school prom,” she retorted.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Willow squinted at her. “You’re thinking about someone else. Who’re you thinking about?”

“The interview just ran long,” Buffy insisted. “They wanted to see my references and I had to look all smart for awhile.”

“You’ve been gone for several hours longer than expected,” Giles declared, carefully folding his napkin and eating a muffin with excruciating exactingness. “It was exceedingly difficult to believe that you’d just been delayed, as you suggested.”

“It was a long walk here…some…squirrels held me up,” she lied badly.

Xander frowned, Willow shot her a look of total disbelief, and Dawn’s nose wrinkled. “What’s everybody having? I’m starving!” she said brightly, cramming Willow against the wall as she slid into place at the booth. “What’s good?”

“The truth is pretty awesome,” Dawn offered sarcastically, but she gave Buffy half of her pancakes, which she at ravenously.

“Would I lie to you guys? I’m telling the truth,” Buffy said casually. “I took the long way around.”

“I thought Xander loaned you his car,” Giles remarked.

“Yeah, Buff. Is it running all right? The clutch slips sometimes.”

“It’s fine. I parked it a few streets away,” Buffy replied.

“Right. And it probably goes by some nice ash trees,” Faith added. Buffy choked on her pancakes, pouring herself a hasty cup of water and draining it as quickly as she could.

“Buffy, what’s gotten into you?” Willow wondered.

“Nothing! I’m just…trying to do the leadery thing and make plans.” She sat up. “I’m the leader, and I say we keep an eye on the Hellmouth and try to find out what’s making them get so jumpy and angry lately.”

Dawn frowned. “It is kind of close to Halloween. Maybe that’s what’s shaking them up?”

“Whatever it is,” she said, “it’s probably just a temporary thing, isn’t it, Giles?”

“Wrong. You’re being a bit presumptuous to assume that any activity of the demonic sort is temporary. We might need to try deeper reconnaissance.”

“Really?” She felt sweat drip down the back of her neck. Giles would always be Buffy’s father figure, and his opinion would forever matter the most to her. “We’ve been doubling patrols for a days, but I haven’t staked a vamp.”

Giles shook his head. “We’ve had reports streaming to the Watcher’s Council, two a day, about demons plaguing the area. While most of them seem to disappear as quickly as they appear, all of the monsters seem to involve the appearance of a dark-haired, heavily-scarred gentleman. His most noticeable feature is a peculiar one – they say he has a metallic right hand.”

Buffy choked on a mouthful of water, then coughed away her obvious incredulity as she recalled her one-night stand and his mounted chainsaw and that gauntlet of his – it didn’t take a genius to put it all together. “I don’t think we need to find the guy. Is he handling the situation okay, isn’t he?”

“He shouldn’t have to handle a thing. This hellmouth is the sworn protected duty of a Slayer. His presence must be unbalancing the very nature of the unholy place. You know quite well that the only handled hellmouth is a sealed hellmouth.”

Dawn frowned. “So we have to hang around here? I was hoping we could go back to the beach for awhile. Remember all of the Malls, and beaches…and malls….”

“You have an education to finish,” Buffy pointed out. “And mom would want you to get your degree in something besides maxing out a charge card. It doesn’t matter where you get it from, as long as it’s official.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Willow worried.

“I just needed to be alone for a while.”

“Really?” she didn’t look sure at all in the face of Buffy’s confidence.

“I’m still trying to get used to the whole not-dead thing, Wills,” she said, pasting a hopefully not too nervous smile on her face as their server dropped off more coffee. “It wasn’t your usual average every-day slay hunt.” Why had the room taken on such a chill? She shivered and looked up at…some flickering lights.

Not good.

Pretending to brush a crumb from her shoulder, she peered over her shoulder at their suddenly suspiciously-still waitress. Buffy opened her mouth to ask how she was doing when a bulb popped over their table, scattering glass over their meal. She heard Xander whine behind her as their waitress whirled stiffly around, her face a withered mask of nauseatingly rotted flesh.

“I’LL SWALLOW YOUR SOUL!” she shouted, throwing the full tray like a discus at Buffy’s head.

She ducked just in time. “GET…” Buffy shouted, flinging a glance at the others, but Giles had already shepherded the others under the table. Everyone, of course, but Buffy and Willow.

“What kinda demon are we dealing with here?” Buffy asked Giles, using anything she could get her hands on as a projectile while she unholstered her axe. Willow tried one protective spell after another, but whatever magical power the Demon possessed it healed each wound she inflicted.

Giles peered over the top of the table. “A highly unusual one. I’ve never seen such a violent specimen before.”

Buffy’s nose wrinkled as she pitched a half-full milkshake at the demo, dodged it’s grasping hands and made a play for an unused place setting. Another diner tried to interfere, but was bested before Buffy could throw herself into the fray. “Grossus and slimicus?” she suggested.

Silence. “Wills?” she asked, but Willow was staring agog at the creature while it tore a mouthful of flesh from the neck of a fleeing trucker.

“I think Buffy’s right – grossus et slimicus,” Willow blurted out, watching the man’s entrails spill across the floor.

“Name it once it’s a specimen for my lab,” Giles requested, staring agog at the gigantic monster.

Buffy growled as she armed her scythe and prepared to charge into the fray. “I’m not the one with hundreds of hours of library time bouncing around in my head!” she pointed out. She grabbed Willow by the shoulder and pointed down, wide-eyed, at the corpse of the Trucker, which had turned ash gray and began twitching.

“Whatever these things are,” Buffy observed, “they don’t stay dead.” She snatched a steak knife with her other hand and vaulted over the back of the booth, rushing toward the back of the room. “Willow, cover me.” Buffy had her hands full, as the headless and nearly-gutless trucker lurched back to his feet and made a lunge for her best friend.

“Got it!” she shouted, severing the ex-man’s grasping arm. The hand, to her amazement, kept on coming toward Willow; she shrieked and brought her foot down on its back, chanting snippets of spells as Buffy went to working chopping the rest of the trucker into tiny bits.

 _”NUIT!”_ Willow finally yelled, and the trucker-corpse twitched once before suddenly imploding in a shower of red and yellow blood, coating Buffy head to toe in a rain shower of gore. Buffy gaped at the spot where the man had once stood, then composed herself to finish the fight.

The younger Slayer had separated the waitress from one of her arms and a leg but still she kept coming forward, her breath foul and steaming hot. She threw a furtive look over her shoulder at Willow, who ducked. Buffy instantly took a higher road – and cleaved the woman’s head head from her torso with her scythe. Grunting, she chopped the waitress into individual quivering, bloody chunks, until Willow managed another successful incantation and yet another implosion of fluid stained the restaurant.

Their task done, Buffy and Willow stood back, staring in disbelief at the mess, panting slightly from the exertion. The first sound to penetrate Buffy’s consciousness was Giles apologizing quietly to the restaurant’s owner.

“Nah, it’s nothing – happens every few weeks.” She looked over her shoulder and watched as he hooked up a wet-dry vac to his outlet. “Y’know a guy named Williams? Blood on the ceiling every time he comes here for a cup of coffee. Tried to ban him, but it started happening every time he walked by.” He snorted. “Public sidewalks are public property. Goddamned city ordinances.”

Buffy’s nose wrinkled up as she tried to shake the sticky blood from her tank top. “Thanks, Wills.”

“I need tea,” Willow grumbled, reholstering her weapon. When Buffy turned around, Xander and Dawn were busy covering their mouths in a vain attempt at keeping each other from heaving, and Giles was trying to wring the stuff out of his jacket.

“Oh God,” Xander groaned, wiping the gunk off of his forehead. “I think it got in my underwear…” He frowned. “Please tell me I didn’t say that out loud…”

“You didn’t say that out loud,” Buffy deadpanned.

Giles polished his glasses against his jacket, helping a slippery Dawn to her feet as they headed for the exit. “I believe we’ve encountered the source of the town’s newfound problems.”

“So the rumors were right,” Buffy noted. “We should have known they were – vacation time’s not part of the Slayer package.”

“Indeed,” Giles replied. “We need to locate this Ashley as quickly as possible.”

“Wait – all we have are descriptions,” Buffy called. “How can we find him?”

“Tsha,” Dawn teased. “Maybe we should light up the Promised-signal, or send up some flares.”

Giles said, “the reports are very precise. All of them seem to center around a place called an S-Mart.’”

“The S-Mart?” Buffy asked, her eyebrow rising. “The gross-looking superstore with the green glow-worm thing in the display window we pass every time on our way out of town?”

“The very same.”

Buffy sighed, scratched the back of her neck, and grimaced. “We kind of need supplies…”

***

Ash drained his half-full cup of blue raspberry slush before dragging the bag of potato chips across his scanner. It was unsurprising that he’d ended up in the same place he’d technically started from, yet somehow he was still ticked off about his fate. He shoved it further down the rollers, adding a box of Snowballs, three packages of crossbow string, a knife sharpener, five large hunting knives and a bottle of Sunny D-Lite. He looked up, his eyebrow rising, as he punched in the keycode attached to the knives, then depressed a button to open his drawer. “Right…and your final total is sixty-eight ninety….” he finally locked eyes with his customer. “…Nine.”

It was the blonde from last night…fuck, he still couldn’t remember her name! She stared at him blandly as she waited for her change. And she wasn’t alone; in fact she was accompanied by a grave-looking blond guy in heavy spectacles, who wore an equally inscrutable expression. Ash stared at her boldly while he printed her receipt. “Did you find everything you needed today?” he said, repeating the company party line while his eyes glommed onto her cleavage.

“Almost.” The blonde’s hand shot out, encircled his wrist, and pulled him halfway over the conveyor belt. “We need to talk. NOW.”

Ash gasped, the wind temporarily knocked out of him, before turning his glare into a pained smirk. “What’s wrong, sunshine? Last night wasn’t enough for you?” he asked as her fist dug into his ribs. The words came out in a pained gasp. “’Cause if you want a little more, the Ash express is always happy to deliver it, fast and hot…”

She rolled her eyes. “Ugh. Not. Even.” She tossed a glance over her shoulder and smacked him in the face with her blonde locks. “Where can we be alone?”

He smirked. “My backseat…OW!” she had such sharp little nails! “How about the employee lounge?”

“Fine.” She let him out of her quasi-hammerlock, and Ash growled, straightening his hair. He smirked at Giles. “’Scuse us, Poindexter,” he drawled.

Giles glared at him and murmured something to Buffy, his eyes shooting daggers at Ash as he retreated. Ash turned and walked, firmly ignoring him, leading Buffy to the back of the store. She followed without protest. Once he’d closed the door to the employee lounge behind them they were entirely alone with a microwave, sink and couch; Ash formed some loose plans to woo her once she was more comfortable. He perched himself on a sink and watched her, smugly grinning. She rolled her eyes and flopped onto the couch; his grin faded. “I’ve got a rubber in my pocket,” he blurted out.

“Can we not talk about sex?” she begged. “It’s so not why I’m here.”

Ash pouted. “Fine.” A pause. “Why are you here?”

Her expression turned sheepish. “This is gonna sound weird.”

“No big. I’m a master of weirdness,” he said. “I own weirdness. I kick its ass.”

She paused, gave him a brief, incredulous look, and then plunged onward. “Do you know anything about the demons that have been popping up in this store?”

He was baffled into silence for a moment. Then he grinned. “That’s it! I knew you recognized me,” he smirked. “Word gets around fast in these parts when you save the world from burning up in a ball of stupidity.”

Her nose wrinkled in absolutely disbelief at his arrogance, but Buffy continued, “I didn’t. But my friend Giles did. The guy in our reports has a metal hand and a bunch of scars.” She deliberately stared at his gauntlet appendage, one eyebrow poking up.

His grin dropped a couple of notches. “Reports?” He raised an eyebrow. “You’re a newschick?”

She shook her head. “I understand what you’re going through. Let’s leave it at that.”

Ash shook his head. “Uh huh. No way am I just gonna…” he trailed off and wondered, “Is Giles that the guy you were gabbing with back there?”

She finally smiled back at him. “Yep. He’s sort of like my dad.”

Ash winced and thrust a hand through his hair. “Should’ve guessed. He was giving me the ol’ stink eye. You didn’t tell him that we fucked around, did you?”

“Eww, no.” She sighed. “Okay, let’s talk turkey – I’m here for a reason, and not because I want to get into those…” she stared at his thighs. “You need cuter pants.” She cleared her throat. “There’s a Hellmouth in this town, and for some reason all of the demons and undead ickiness that usually ends up attracted to me seems to be making tracks right to you.”

“Hell-what?” he stepped back and eyed her critically. “Baby, I dunno what you’re talking about. These things aren’t…” he hesitated.

“Aren’t?” she probed

His features stiffened into a mask of macho self-protection. No way could he reveal the whole truth to her. “They’re a different kind of demon. I know they didn’t come out of a hole in the ground.”

“Demons escape from hell however they can,” she replied. “Most of the time it’s through a deep cave or pit - the town’s Hellmouth. Most places have one – some smaller than others. They come out at night, mostly,” she added. “That’s why people like us were put on the earth – to defend it. You’re looking at the only person who’s stands between Sunnydale and everything going splodey. Those demon things…you call them Deadites?”

“Yeah.”

“So you’re in charge of mopping up the ick?”

Ash’s features screwed up into a grimace; he hated that destiny bullshit with every fiber of his being, and as cute as Buffy was, he wasn’t about to sit there and take it from her. “Don’t you talk down to me about destiny, sister. You think you get what I have to go through every damn day?” he growled. “Try this on for size: these things come out whenever I step foot outside my place at night. I’m just picking my nose or checking my teeth in a mirror and suddenly the guy next to me’s knocking me on my ass trying to steal my soul. Nothing I do stops ‘em, and I’ve tried every mumbo-jumbo flim-flam artist alive to get me outta this. You might as well get used to getting hit in the face by flying demon guts every time you’re within five feet of me. God knows, I have.”

She eyed him critically. “You seem to deal with it.”

“I have to,” he snorted. “If I don’t, I die. You don’t get a second choice with this Promised bullshit. You do or you lose it.” He noticed a look of sympathy cross her features, almost like camaraderie, and went still and eyed her critically. “You said you know how it is, blondie. So you’ve got a destiny monkey hanging off your back, too. Am I wrong?”

She opened her mouth for a response, but then there was a howl in the distance. They both paused to listen; his ear twitched in sympathetic rhythm to the demonic, cacophonous noise. “Right. Business is picking up,” he growled, yanking a gun from his leg holster. “Wanna see the Promised One in action, dollface?”

Buffy jumped to her feet. “Action…hey wait! No guns!”

“You’ll pry it outta my cold, dead hands. This boomstick’s my good luck charm,” he declared. “Nobody but nobody’s getting between me and this little beauty.” He checked the chamber, slipped a fresh deer slug inside and closed it with a flick of his wrist. He spun the gun around by its trigger pull and nestled it safely in his meaty hand, glancing over at Buffy to see if she was impressed.

She wasn’t. “You didn’t say you were gonna be killing someone,” she said. “Aren’t these demons still people, deep down inside?”

“Deadites ain’t M&Ms. They’re demons on their scum-coated outsides and extra satanic in the middle,” he growled.

She stood stubbornly before him. “But there’s gotta be a way to get through to them…”

He checked his chainsaw quickly. “Just grab a weapon and…” He stared down into her puppy-dog eyes and groaned. “You can’t reason with a demon, sugar. Even you know that.”

“You said last night that someone got to you like that.”

His features turned to concrete, and he brushed past her on the way out the door. Damn his loose lips in the sack. “Do you wanna be the one to try and give ‘em a cup of coffee and a pep talk?”

Outside of the lounge, the wind began to howl, the lights flickering and the sound of an agitated demon giggling filled the air, followed by a chorus of high-pitched screams. A bored voice crackled over the loudspeaker. “Ash to Health and Beauty, Ash to Health and Beauty…” He really had been working at the S-Mart for too many damn years. He shot a look over his shoulder as he opened the door. “You can stay or you can come. Just keep outta my way when the heavy shit starts.”

She stood up straight. “I’m covering you.”

“As long as you think you can handle it, princess,” he replied.

She rolled her eyes. “I’ll never be as tough as the great Promised One, but I’ll try to struggle on through.” He saw her reach behind her – that damn axe thing was already in her hands. Fuck it – if she wanted to risk her pretty little neck who was he to stop her?

It took Ash two minutes to find the proper aisle, only because he had to battle shrieking hordes of fleeing customers. The first thing to greet him was the stench of decaying flesh, followed rapidly by a bony fist slamming into his chin.

It sent him rocking forward, which gave the little blonde enough room to inject herself into the fight. He saw her kick the monster with the flat of her boot, hard and quick in her stomach. Curlers and shopping bags went flying as the Deadite sprawled out in the center aisle. Ash armed his gun, prepared for the ex-human to make a wild rally; Buffy was ahead of him, waving that scary-as-hell axe-thing over her head. The arc was flawless; it severed the creature’s head. Severed it and landed it right in Ash’s right hand.

He screamed the manliest scream ever heard in Detroit.

Bashing the woman’s face into the ground, he used his fist to shred it into threads of bloody skin before helping Buffy with the flailing torso and hands; orifices oozed bright green and gold puss, and blue and black blood spurted from her neck, coating the aisles of shampoo bottles.

Ash glanced over his shoulder to see if Buffy was still with him. She was trying to shake the scum off of her hands, her face twisted in a grimace. “I got some up my nose…oh gross!! What do you do when it gets up your nose?”

He lifted his shoulders, raised a hand to his nose, and blew a stream of black-green snot into his sleeve. When he looked back up, Buffy’s expression had curdled into one of utter disgust.

“I don’t believe I did it with you,” she muttered, fixing her goo-spattered hair.

“Yeah, well, ya did – deal with it, doll,” he growled. She felt a tiny stab of guilt for making him feel bad for the carnage they’d both wrought.

“We both did this together, Ash,” she declared, coming around to wrap an arm around his shoulder. He immediately shook off her touch and glared.

“Yeah. That’s the problem. This ain’t a duet, Little Miss Slayer. Promised duty is solo duty,” he declared flatly.

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Ash, you’re not the only one with a big mantle on their shoulders.” She grabbed him by the arm and pulled him closer. “I’ve been through as much as you have,” she reminded him. They were walking toward the front of the store, where Giles was peering at them with great interest.

Her tone of voice softened his expression. “Someday we should swap sob stories.”

“Mmm. I guess so - it’s a long ride back home,” she added. “After all of this I think you owe me dinner.” Ash’s mouth flopped open, and she added. “A good dinner. Pizza and wine and all the trimmings.”

He snorted in relief. At least she wasn’t a snooty type. “Spring for some Crazy Bread and I’ll think about it. Can’t leave early tonight, though – got a double shift.” He rolled his eyes. “It’s glamorous as hell around here.”

She nodded. “Right…soooo…” she foraged about in her surrounding, ending up scribbling down an address on the back of a package of barrettes with a tube of lipstick. “Giles is gonna want to talk to you about this stuff sometime. Hellmouths are kinda big bad serious big bad things, and since you’re a target….”

“Yeah, yeah – I’ve already heard it,” he gently pushed her in Giles’ direction. “Go see daddy. I’ll see you before you take off.”

“Hasta manana,” she replied lightly, and skipped off to see Giles.

Giles and Ash traded quick glances, and while her father figure guided her out to her car, he turned his attention back toward praising Ash’s skills. “Fascinating. Utterly fascinating! He seems to have no formal training whatsoever in hand-to-hand-combat, and yet he completely eviscerated the entire cul de sac of demons!”

“Cha, I know, I was there,” Buffy sighed, wiping her eyes. “I take it we have our answer.”

“Yes we do,” he replied. “Even if I hadn’t seen his metal hand, his style of fighting would have immediately informed me of his obvious destiny,” Giles remarked, eyeing Buffy’s stained hair and ruined clothes, he added, “I’m afraid you need another shower before we continue to the Watcher’s briefing.”

She nodded, watching him pack the groceries away. “I know. Ummmm… Ash is supposed to come over after his shift for dinner.”

Giles pried open the back of the van, a brief stiffening of his shoulders hinting at the worry this notion gave him. “Are you growing fond of him?”

She shrugged. “He’s a rude, arrogant jerk.”

“Which seems to be your type.” She winced. “You did ask for my honesty. Angel, Riley and Spike weren’t exactly studious, calm or well-appointed, were they?”

“Not quite,” Buffy admitted. “But I thought you didn’t mind any of them…too much.”

He gave her a long, steady look. “One of them tried to kill me, two of them tried to kill you, and Riley wasn’t healthy for you whatsoever.” Giles settled down behind the wheel. “Ash kills evil without giving in to its awesome power. That’s a good thing.”

“I noticed,” Buffy grumbled, rubbing at the goo settling into her tank top.

“And I think he might be good for you. A healthy choice.”

“He’s not a TV dinner,” Buffy muttered. She was already distracted by the S-Mart in her rear-view mirror as they pulled away. “It’s so weird,” she said. “It’s like this happens every day.”

“It likely does,” Giles replied. “Either Ash has learned how to cast mind control spells, or they’ve become used to such chaos dominating their everyday lives.”

“I think it’s the second one,” she said. “Ash knows how to fight but he’s not too brainy.”

“You shouldn’t judge him so quickly,” Giles replied.

“I think I can judge him pretty well right now …” she cut off Giles before he could ask the ultimate question, “Slayer sense.” She tapped her own forehead and winced as it left behind a huge smudge of gunk. When Giles passed by a fast food joint her stomach rumbled; she had missed out on breakfast, and creature-slaying had left Buffy completely famished. “I’m so throwing a pizza in the oven when we get home.”

Giles pulled a u-turn at the next stoplight, and they coasted into the Weenie World parking Lot and pulled up to the clown-shaped speaker. Buffy was then treated to the sight of Giles yelling into the unresponsive gadget, and tried to disguise her snickering as a cough. He finally gave up trying to reason with the clown and pulled into an empty spot. Buffy unbuckled her safety belt and moved to follow him inside and Giles stayed her motion. “Please stay here,” he said, cringing, as she tried to roll down the window. “You’re just a bit drippy.”

****

“GIN!”

Buffy froze in the doorway with her white paper bag of greasy, hot-fried goodness. Dawn and Willow were lying on her couch, playing their card game over a pot of Oreos. She grinned. “You got started without me.”

“I got bored,” Dawn replied. “And there’s only so many times you can watch the same Mexican soap opera before you go nuts.”

“We can deal you in, Buffy,” Willow offered.

“Sure.” The blonde doffed her coat and hung it up before retiring to the end chair with her fast food, which she proceeded to eat ravenously while Willow re-shuffled the deck. Both women maintained a code of silence for quite a while before turning toward Buffy in a simultaneous motion.

“So – how was he?” Willow asked.

Buffy’s features crumpled in horror, and her sister scrambled off the furniture.

“I mean…it’s not like I’m not curious, even though I’m gay, and…” Willow turned toward Buffy and asked, “did you see his butt?”

“Can I be excused from this talk?” Dawn winced, covering her ears.

“You’re excused,” Buffy replied, and Dawn dismissed herself with a fistful of cookies and a roll of her eyes, leaving to take cover in her room upstairs.

Buffy groaned and buried her face in her hands. “I don’t believe you guys…”

“Well, it’s important for you to be as open as possible. It’s healthier for your chi,” Willow said, her eyes evasive.

“You just wanna gossip….” She waited until the door shut on a disgusted Dawn and turned back toward her grinning. “Let’s do that.”

“Was he….good?” Willow blushed.

Buffy shuffled her shoulders. “You’re not even gonna build up to that? Maybe you should ask if he was a good kisser or something….” Willow leaned in, curious, her expression somewhat jealous, and Buffy smirked. “He was good.” She ran the tip of a french fry across her lips.

“Angel-good?” Willow asked.

“Oh Gods…”

Willow crossed her arms over her chest. “We agreed the baseline of comparison is Angel. Anyone south of the line is Riley.”

“Anyway…he was nice. Paid just enough attention to just the right spots. ” Buffy shrugged and added, “surprisingly flexible” and picked up another fry. “He was on top, and I was on top, and then I was on top again, and then he did this thing with his leg and we totally ended up sideways somehow…” She squinted and tried to pull the memory to light. “I can’t remember anything else. It was a blur of sweaty chest hair.”

“Eww. But you CAN’T leave it there,” Willow complained, stealing a French fry.

Buffy shrugged. “He backs up the big game he talks. Well, most of the time,” she said. “He’s kind of stubborn, and he doesn’t take direction well at all. It was a weird experience. But a good one.” She waved a hand in front of Buffy’s eyes when she didn’t respond. “Earth to Buffy?”

“Huh? No, I was just thinking….I remember talking to him for a while before we went back to his motel room, but I can’t really remember what it about. Weird.”

“Chemistry,” Willow declared, flopping onto the couch. “You totally have chemistry.” They knew who Willow was mourning, and exactly what she meant when she said such a thing.

The two women paused to reflect for just a moment, the sour old hurts and childhood disappointments rising once more to confront them. Then Willow broke the tension by saying, “I’m in the mood for pizza. Which of us is gonna go grab Dawn?”

“She’s sixteen,” Buffy declared. “She’s gonna have to learn how to take care of herself sometime… but I don’t trust her alone with access to a cell phone,” Buffy said. “Guardianship is hard.”

“I’ll do it!” Willow chirped, running from the room, her memories of Tara still dogging her footfall as she retreated from the room. She shouted over her shoulder, “When I get back, why don’t you tell me all about his….?”

***

“….adequate, Johnson. Our protection is very adequate.”

Buffy’s brain jumped back to life as Giles concluded what had been a very businesslike conference; the big wigs at the Council correctly identified Ash as the Promised One, pouring over ancient texts that seemed to pinpoint his entire destiny. After consultation, they declared that he should be tracked for awhile, just to make sure that he could handle himself against Deadites and vamps alike. Giles poured Buffy another cup of coffee while he drew up plans.

“Have you discussed the evening’s arrangements with Xander?”

She nodded “I’m sending him on a night patrol,” she declared. Giles paled and she grinned. “I’m disappointed that you can’t tell when I’m kidding. Anyway, I know you wanted me to tail Ash.”

“Precisely. Though I suspect there are some ulterior motives at work…”

“…Ugh do we have to talk about motives and plans and future-thingies? I’ll keep an eye on him and find out what he does at night, and then I’ll report back to you.”

“Fine. I don’t wish to lie about your romantic yearnings…”

“…Ew..”

“…If you feel something strong for him, you should…”

“OH GODS, EW.”

Giles removed his glasses and ran a polishing cloth over them. “…Please handle it accordingly. The Watcher’s Council provides measures in case of extenuating circumstances of a medical variety…”

She held up a palm. He replaced his glasses and sighed. “And if you listen, I might finish my sentence for the first time in a year,” he continued.

Buffy smiled. “You know I love ya. It’s just really weird to talk about this stuff with you.”

“Yes, well, it isn’t an ideal situation for me, either.” He returned the files to their hiding place in a small briefcase he kept beneath the bed. “Please take care of yourself, child.”

“You know I can.” She’d proven that, after the Doublemeat, Riley, and even with Dawn.

“I do,” he said. “But reinforcement is the key to a proper education,” he declared, and gave her an awkward pat to the shoulder.

She smiled. “I never ever ignore you. That’d be like having a horrible death wish…more than usual.”

“Go ready yourself,” he suggested, handing over a small dagger made of heavily burnished metal with a thick wooden handle. “And bring this – the books say weapons of forged steel are incredibly effective against this particular brand of demon.”

Buffy weighed the knife in her hand; it felt sold and comfortable in her grip. She grinned and tucked it into her sash. “Any vulnerable spots I should watch for?”

“Only the ones you’ve already discovered. They keep coming until they’re dismembered, at what point they explode and melt. Willow’s spell sped the process, but it’s not necessary to induce the typical reaction.”

She cringed. “I’ll remember that. Can you watch Dawn tonight?”

“Of course. She is sixteen and a growing girl. You might…” She disappeared into the bathroom, but his words distracted her.

She peeked around the bathroom door at him. “You know you’re quoting Willow right now, right?”

“….No, I didn’t. But she’s a singularly sensible woman, you know. And since your…return…you’ve been a bit protective of her.”

Her nose wrinkled. “The whole almost-dying thing is kind of a good reason, right?”

“Of course, but you should…”

“…I know, I know…” The water rushed into the tub and negated any further attempt at conversation.

****

She wore a cute little dress and the dagger to Ash’s motel room. Unsurpsingly, he greeted her on the doorstep in a slightly-stained dark blue shirt and jeans. His eyes glided over her body possessively, and by the time he got to her face her expression had molded itself into a grimace.

Ash chose to ignore her misgivings. “Hey pretty mama,” he said, leaning forward to kiss her temple. She skillfully dodged his embrace.

“Hi,” she said. “Uh…nice place.” She hadn’t taken much of a look at the living room when she’d been over earlier. It was such a painfully stereotypical bachelor pad that it bordered on cliché; there were beer cans strewn over the floor, empty TV Dinner trays and pizza boxes in a mountain on a coffee table, glowing neon signs advertising beer companies glowed from the wall, and there was a sink loaded with dirty dishes, a refrigerator plastered with pin-ups of bikini models, and several tiny plastic tumblers plastered with pictures of nude women. She snickered and picked up one of them. “Did you do you have your housewarming at, like, Archie McPhees?”

Ash seemed vaguely ashamed, but his tongue never seemed to let him down. “Never heard of the place. Must be one of those foofy little California chains.” He shoved the previous Sunday’s paper off his rust-colored sofa and gestured for her to sit down. “So, wanna take in a flick? There’s something new playing down at the Showcase. It’s supposed to be monster-free.”

“Why do I have a feeling that nothing in your life is really monster-free?” Buffy retorted.

Ash smirked. “Give the little lady a hand,” he replied, “She’s brighter than most of the dames I date. Got it in one. They tend to pour out of the woodwork no matter where I go. Tried sticking around here after sundown, but they ain’t homebody-friendly demons. They took my neighbors, the guy who brought me a pizza - anybody they could get their hands on. It’s like a case of herpes that won’t go down and sure as hell won’t go away. Just like I told ya before.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I’m surprised they won’t take no for an answer. Are you really sure an exorcist wouldn’t work?”

“Try throwing holy water on something spewing acid at your head. See how holy you feel,” Ash growled. “Why do you think that stuff will work on them?”

“Want to know why I’m such an expert on vampires?” Buffy asked. Ash shrugged his shoulders, and her smirk turned secretive. “I slay them for a living.”

Ash paused, staring at her blankly. “Really?” he smirked. “Should’ve guessed that fancy little axe of yours was for more than just slicing turkey.” He continued, somewhat contemptuously, “But if that don’t work on your little vamp buddies, it won’t work on a six-foot slab of crusty demon death.”

She rolled her eyes. “You love talking.”

“You admitted I was right.”

She sighed. “Holy water, yes. Chopping them up, no.”

“Right?”

“Right.”

“So…still wanna go out on that date?”

She grinned and stood up, her foot crunching down on some unidentified ick. She cringed, but quickly replied, “of course.”

He smirked. “Round here I’m the king of Shit Mountain. I can get us into any restaurant you want,” he added grandly. “Just name it.”

“If you stop it with the crap parallels,” she responded.

He rolled his eyes. “Movie first?”

“Movie first.”

***

The movie palace had been recently refurbished – Charlie Chaplin himself had financed it sometime in the 20’s. It had been whitewashed and gilded in gold, large red curtains framing the stage and a heavily-painted ceiling bore artificial twinkling stars. Buffy stared up at the pattern of constellations, ringed by cherubs – she’d never bothered with any of California’s grander movie revival houses, but this was a pretty place to play around in, and she started counting the feathers on the angel’s wings out of respect and boredom alike.

“Never seen anything like it, have ya?” Ash wondered, digging his metal hand into a box of artificially-brightened yellow popcorn.

“I’m more of a multiplex girl.”

He grinned. “Not after tonight.”

She raised an eyebrow. “How many girls do you bring out here?”

He shook his head. “Not many.” He handed her an orange-striped paper cup filled with cola. “I’m a newbie to this town. In the past six months? Just you.” He looked haunted for a moment, but Buffy didn’t venture further and ask him what he was getting at. Instead, she turned toward the screen as the lights dimmed.

He’d selected them a comedy featuring Adam Sander gaining the unique ability to fart in Morse code, which somehow won him and his girlfriend a regional basketball championship. Buffy started to drift off, and every time she reached a peaceful state of meditative nirvana Ash would let out this laugh – this loud, brash, honking, obnoxious laugh that somehow annoyed her and made her smirk in the same instance. She spared him a glance; he gave her a confident smirk, and then looped an arm around her shoulders.

It took a minute before she felt something brush her forearm. Halfway through the movie, she realized the grasping intruder couldn’t possibly belong to Ash. Her pulse sped up as she spared a glance down at whatever was rustling against her sleeve.

It was a severed hand. A demonic but very bored-looking severed hand. Working on pure adrenalin and instinct, Buffy yanked the dagger from her waistband and brought her wrist down, stabbing it straight through the backside of its palm. Letting out an unfathomably loud howl, the demon-hand twisted and writhed against the sharp point of the dagger; the patrons surrounding them to try and hush the noise.

Buffy stabbed it silently, and then held it up for a confused Ash to see. “Missing something?”

“GAH!” Ash yelled, flinging the popcorn he’d been holding high in the air and spilling it over both of them; he sprung back from the impaled ex-limb. Buffy rolled her eyed and flicked her wrist, displacing it against the wall with a wet thud. Ash stared after its trajectory with fear and concern in his eyes, but when it stopped moving he relaxed.

“One of yours?” she asked.

“Mine, period,” Ash admitted. “That used to be my hand. The little bastard’s been trailing me everywhere I go,” he added.

“Ouch,” she remarked. “How did you? Lose it, I mean?”

Ash’s features sharpened in the dim light of the movie theatre. He turned with a glower toward the screen. “Just watch the movie.”

Buffy turned back toward the screen. They finished the picture with no further interruptions, and as soon as they movie concluded Ash hustled Buffy out the door and to his car, giving paranoid glances to the world around them over his shoulder.

“Are we being followed?” she wondered.

“Nah,” he shrugged and jumped into the car. “Gotta be careful when you’re in this neighborhood. This is downtown Dearborn, sweetcheeks, people get carjacked walking across the street.”

“And you brought me here for a date why?” Buffy wondered.

He smirked and started the ignition. “You looked like the kinda girl who could handle it all right.”

“Yep. Chosen One mojo n’all. I’ve seen monsters scarier than yours.”

He raised an eyebrow and the car coasted smoothly out of the lot – he pointed it eastward to the restaurant he’d selected. “Are we doing some dick waving now?”

“Eeew. I don’t have one,” she smirked.

“I know,” he leered back.

“You do handle it better than most people,” she admitted. “Did you mind me helping you out?”

He cocked his head and grinned down at her. “Hell, you get me hotter than asphalt in July.”

She rolled her eyes. “Slaying works up an appetite,” she declared. “So if you don’t keep my stomach satisfied as well as the rest of me…”

He laughed. “That’s one hell of a compliment, blondie.”

“Blondie?”

He smirked. “I’m a nickname guy.”

Buffy opened her mouth to add another remark to the pile, but then they drove by a graveyard. Ash shuddered, turned away – the reaction highly intriguing to Buffy. “Are you…”

“Fine,” he said, driving the final distance between them and the Italian restaurant without another word.

***

Buffy was, once again, surprised by Ash’s taste. The restaurant was redolent of the scent of wine and recently-picked basil, the interior bright red and accented over with gold and green. It felt warm and cozy in the mid-fall night, and she settled down happily, watching the waiter bring them breadsticks and fresh beer.

“Soda for me,” she requested.

Ash raised an eyebrow at her. “Are you on AA or something?”

She shook her head. “I don’t go well with beer. It’s just…bad news for me.”

“Okay.” He tried to order for them, but she quickly countermanded his request. “Parmesan?” he asked, grabbing a breadstick and chewing with a slow, grinding motion.

“I need to keep up my energy,” she replied.

“Right, slayer,” he replied. “Wouldn’t mind seein’ you in action some time.”

She sighed. “I really hope you won’t have to.”

As if in answer, someone behind them let out a loud, pronounced roar, the lights flickering.

Ash had yanked a shotgun out from beneath the table (her eyes widened – when had he snuck that one past her?) and cocked the hammer. She ducked and snuck around the opposite side of the table to the repeated blast of his pistol, sneaking behind the lurching demon.

“I’ll swallow your…”

“…bowl?” He jammed the gun into the creature’s mouth. “Sorry, I can’t hear you around the boomstick you got stuck in your teeth.” He pulled the trigger, sending the creature, howling and smoking, through a plate-glass viewing window and onto the street outside.

Buffy jumped toward the spot the monster had vacated, leaving Ash to trail behind her, cursing and sweating the whole time. Buffy masked her amusement as they rushed through the broken glass, following the monster at double-speed through the neighborhood of toughs and hooligans. She heard a revving noise behind her and turned to see Ash with a…why the hell did he have a chainsaw where his hand should be? She gaped for just long enough to lose their little demonic friend.

“Great instincts, Nancy Drew,” Ash complained, powering down the chainsaw.

She rolled her eyes. “Are you used to chasing zombies in high heels? Because it’s not a picnic – though your guys are way slower than mine.”

He shook his head. “Got too used to your kind. And they ain’s zombies, they’re demons.”

Buffy ambled toward the cemetery gates and pulled them open, glancing over her shoulder at Ash when he paused. “Is mister big bad Demonkiller afraid of a little cemetery?” she wondered.

Ash stood frozen at the gates, his chainsaw puttering, obvious fear clear in his eyes. Then his jaw tightened, and he pasted on a confident smirk. “Nothing, dollface. Coupla bags of bones ain’t gonna make me shake in my boots.”

“All right,” she said, reaching up and wrenching open the iron gate. “Then go get ‘em, Tiger.”

Ash’s strut was more of a tip-toe, and his eyes were wide as he scanned the walls and tried to see through cement, peer around corners and envision what was trying to leap out and get him. Buffy held her dagger and her stake in her clenched hands, backing him up. Ash strode heavily ahead of the trail, following the path of blood, the drip of mucus and the ugly and bruised coloration of the ground left behind in a Deadite’s footprint. Ash knew well that the most dangerous thing in the world was to let down his guard.

That was exactly what he did when he came across a too-familiar headstone lying in the shaded grass.

Buffy loomed over his shoulder as Ash bent silently to pick at a stray weed. His fingers brushed across the stone front of the tombstone, his touch reverent, and his expression distant and completely remote.

“Is it someone you knew?” Buffy finally asked. Very cautiously she rested a hand upon his shoulder, and Ash stiffened against her touch.

His eyes were downcast, but unblinking in their stare. “She was my sister before all of this shit went down.”

“What kind of person was she before the mystical suck visited you?” Buffy sat down beside him on the grass, unmindful of staining her dress.

“She liked to draw. Wanted to grow up to see the world.” He looked at Buffy and noticed a kinship in her expression. “You’ve been through this before. The death thing.” He didn’t bother to make that a question.

“My mom died,” she admitted. “But it wasn’t because of them.” Ash raised his head and watched her. “She had a brain tumor,” she explained. “They thought they got all of it, but…” she rubbed her upper arms and looked down. “She had a seizure and died.”

Ash reached out and gently squeezed her upper arm. “That why you’re so take-charge?”

She shook her head. “Slayers are born to lead. Killing vamps is just one part of it. What about you?”

He shrugged. “Tried the leader thing once. It went sideways on me.” There was another lift of his shoulders as he placed a pebble on his sister’s headstone. And, without further prompting, he told her his entire story – Linda, Scott, Shelly, Cheryl; the cabin; Annie, Sheila, Arthur and his men. The past and the future. “I work alone, usually. Don’t like too many cooks spoiling the broth.”

She smirked. “And then along came Buffy?”

He shrugged. “Y’know I don’t date much. It’s been one-night stands for ages.” He lifted his shoulders again, shrugging, suggesting he didn’t mind it. “How about you? D’you have any little secrets?”

She shrugged blithely. “I died twice.”

Ash raised an eyebrow. “no freakin’ way.”

She stared right back at him. “Why, don’t tell me it happened to you.”

To the ground, Ash admitted, “I died twice, too.”

“Really?”

“First time it turned me into one of them. Kept happening every time I left the cabin and went out into the woods. They’re treacherous little bastards, and they got no problem taking people out by any means necessary.” He shrugged, plucked up a blade of grass, split it down the center with his thumbnail. “I’ve been to hell. After that there ain’t a thing this world could teach me.”

She paused and put her hand very lightly on his wrist. “I’ve died, too. The second time I went to heaven…or I thought it was heaven…it was beautiful. The first time I saw demons – ugly things with big, bitey teeth. Wasn’t fun”

He rolled his eyes. “It’s gotta be a destiny thing,” he declared. “Why else would they take a coupla shmoes like you and me and send us down into the proverbial sewer to fight the forces of ridiculous just to make sure everyone else on this dinkburger of a world keep going on.”

She smirked. “I’d put it a little more noble-y than that, but yeah, I guess we’re here for a reason. It took me a long time realize that.”

He scooted a little closer to her and picked up a pebble. “To never giving up.”

She grinned and they tapped rocks. “To never giving up.”

They placed their rocks together, atop the tombstone.

Two seconds later a loud roar came from behind it, and the Deadite they had been so ardently pursuing leapt forward, directly on top of Buffy.

He’d clearly expected someone of non-Promised caliber – a lightweight like the many other women he’d lost to their ilk. Buffy’s punches sent the creature rocking backward and, with a shout, she scissored her legs about its waist and pulled it off and backwards with a fierce yank.

Then the Deadite leapt up, howling. Ash revved the saw, distracting it, drawing its attention firmly away from Buffy. “Hey ugly – missing something?”

His saw cut through the welter of flesh, blood and bones with an unharmonious crunching sound. Yet somehow the saw ended up stuck in the monster’s clavicle bone. Roaring, it grabbed the saw by the base of its blade and ripped it off of Ash’s stump.

“Here’s a chance to show me you’re smarter than ya look and help me out!” Ash gasped as the monster lunged for him. Seizing his gun from his holster, he saw Buffy dart up from between the monster’s legs and dig the dagger…

…Oh. That was NOT right.

The monster reared back, howling in pain and desperately clutching its crotch. There was a strange popping sound coming from its flailing body, and Ash grabbed Buffy, pulling her toward the relative safety of a cluster of willow trees. The Deadite’s body thrashed and thrashed, until suddenly it glowed red and burst in a shower of bright red blood.

Ash blinked at the spot where the monster had once stood. All at once he felt a hand smack flat upon the back of his head.

“Don’t ever call me dumb,” Buffy said, pulling out of his grip.

“Yeah. Got it,” he growled. They both eyed the empty spot, crawling close to it with great caution. “I just don’t get it,” he confessed. “The thing looked exactly like a Deadite…”

“….But it died like a vampire,” Buffy murmured. She and Ash turned toward each other, confusion etching itself on their arch features.

“Looks like we’re gonna have to find you sensei, Strawberry Deadcakes,” Ash said, picking his saw up off the ground and reholstering it.

Buffy’s expression turned steely and wildly determined. “I think I know exactly how to find him,” she said.

***

Giles had – once he’d set up Willow as Dawn’s babysitter – taken refuge at Sunnydale’s library. Buffy knew where to find him, and picked a back alley lock to find him scouring volumes in the rare book room. He glanced up and saw the two of them illuminated in the overhead lighting, and the full effect of what had been wrought. “Problems?” he wondered.

Ash held out his hand and pointed to the gore covering his and Buffy’s outfits. “Want me to draw you a map, Mr. Bean?”

Buffy shut him up by poking his side. “We were attacked during dinner. It looked like a demon…”

“Deadite,” Ash spat out.

“…Whatever he calls it. It looked like one of those, but…it wouldn’t go down,” she admitted. “Until the two of us worked together to take it out.”

Giles adjusted his glasses and raised an eyebrow. “Fascinating. Unexpected events do have a way of putting a damper on things,” he noted, eyeing Ash’s ruined shirt and Bufy’s torn bodice. He held out a volume to Buffy; it was thick, the cover very brittle against her spread fingers. “There are incantations that might reverse the infestation,” he said. “But it’s highly possible that the demons plaguing Mister Williams are no simple demonic being.”

“Spit it out in honest English,” Ash growled.

Giles stared at him quite flatly. “I believe your as-called Deadites are cross-breeding with the common vampire, resulting in a more resilient, blood-hungry Deadite.” He held up a sheaf of notes and his well-used Blackberry. “The Council has been sending me missives all afternoon. It seems your Deadites are gathering near the grounds where a cabin mysteriously burnt down in the Northern Tennessee woods. A new cabin has been built on the site, but the Council has an inkling, a portent, that promises destruction. You’ll need to infiltrate it immediately.”

Ash sagged suddenly against the bookcase. “My God,” he murmured.

“How are we supposed to deal with that kind of threat?” Buffy wondered.

“Holy water,” suggested Giles. “Sharp instruments. All of the typical implements shall work, if you know how to wield them.” He squeezed Buffy’s shoulder. “I know you can do this.”

Any flicker of uncertainty that lingered in Buffy’s eyes died away at that small affirmation. “So do I. Ash?”

Ash glared at the two of them. “Toldja I’m a solo package,” he replied. “But..y’need me pretty bad, don’tcha?”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Yeah, Mister Big Fancy Promised One, we need you.” She grabbed him by the collar and yanked him close on a growl. “And if you don’t , you can kiss me goodbye.”

Ash grinned, smacking a loud kiss against her temple. “Let’s rock and roll.”

****

Ash was a snorer. That little revelation didn’t shock Buffy, but oh did it ever annoy her. She gave her quasi-date a foul glare as they turned off the main road and down an endless, twisted pathway of canyon throughways and large covered bridges leading into the countryside. Ash was an odd travelling companion. When he wasn’t eating pork rinds and complaining about her driving, he was singing aloud to the radio. Ash was loud and messy, and just this side of ridiculous; in short, a fun companion in spite of his flaws.

The path grew dark as they crossed the bridge; it seemed nearly impassible once they reached the foot, choked with vines. A concrete bridge had been built over a rushing canyon filled with jagged stone in the year that had passed between Ash’s leaving the cabin and his return; Buffy knew that the structure itself had been refurbished and rebuilt by the property’s owners, the Knowby’s presumptive heirs. The original structure had generally been demolished, except for one important piece of architecture; the cabin’s chimney.

Buffy felt the heavy weight of the book in her lap. To end the curse once and for all, she and Ash had to burn the books. Then all Deadites inhabiting the fleshly realm would fall to rot, returning to their hell and leaving the earth in peaceful abidance. Whether it would eradicate the curse entirely remained unwritten. Buffy again glanced at the peacefully slumbering man beside her; let him get his strength up. She knew he didn’t tire easily, but every single bit of rest he got would make things easier for her – she had seen him take out a single Deadite, but never a whole flock.

As they rolled down the long dirt road to the cabin, she swore the trees bowed toward them, watching their progress with sightless knotholes, as if all had pivoted to watch their motion through the forest.

Buffy stopped in front of a large stone cabin in a clearing, its windows glowing golden with a hidden light. She turned the ignition, her ears perked for any sudden appearances….

“Hey, want some chips?”

….Or foreign noises. Buffy smacked Ash with a backhand to the nose, sending him falling backward in a sprawl. Ash cried out and grabbed the tip of his nose. “I’m on your side, Barbierella!” Ash shouted.

“You scared the candy corn out of me!” she snapped.

“More like scared the hell into this place,” he said, picking up his gun and sliding outside. She rolled her eyes. “Hey, they can’t all be knee-slappers!”

“Please don’t make any more puns until we’ve finished up,” she said, stuffing the book into his open metal palm. Her hand tightened on the dagger looped securely within her sash. “

Buffy eyed Ash. “Are you game for this?”

She nodded, her eyes slipping along the sturdy structure of the cabin. “It’s a nice place.”

He rolled his eyes, picking up the spare key from its place atop the door with his metal hand. On the left he’d already place a freshly jury-rigged chainsaw, the spiked blade tipped with bits of iron dunked in holy water. “You didn’t see the old girl before they rebuilt her. Back when she was covered in blood and Deadite spit she was a hell of a beaut.” She eyed him askance, and Ash said, “this place was built on top of one of my old haunts. All I know is that it haunted the hell out of me.”

Buffy’s retort died when Ash pulled the door open. Revealed in the glow of the light was not the modern, cozy interior of a cabin but a velvet-swathed chamber made dark, there was a coven of pale-skinned, dark-eyed, glaring figures. Buffy mistook them for vamps and reached for her stake but then noticed the milky eyes of the Deadites and stood erect, her eyes on Ash’s confused countenance.

“Promised,” smiled the largest Deadite; a once-aristocratic woman, now with a large wound. She stood up and tottered toward him on weakened, shattered legs. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

“Sorry, sweet n’ mold, you’re not my idea of a hot Saturday night out,” Ash replied. “Maybe if you had a hot lead injection first…”

The beast growled, its’ voice coming out in an almost mechanical growl. “You fool! We are far more powerful than you could ever imagine! We have drunken from the well of pure power and united with the Necronomicon! And now nothing shall stand in the way of our total domination.”

“Want it?” Ash asked, cocking his gun. “Come get it.”

Bearing a mouth filled with sharp teeth, the wicked creature lunged toward the couple. Ash did the only thing he apparently could think of – knock Buffy out of the way and start blasting away with his gun. From her vantage point, she heard him holler and saw him strike his heel on the ground as he parried and thrust. She threw herself into the fray with punches and kicks, her back pressed firmly to Ash’s as they made a whirligig of destruction.

“Watch out,” he demanded, “in case I turn.”

She had no idea what he meant – her kicks kept pushing through the thin flesh of her victims, crunching her sneakers against pods of hard bone. “Gross . You owe me new shoes.”

“And you owe me sugar!” Ash growled. She heard the saw rev and catch on something particularly thick and gruesome, and she brought her scythe into action, cutting heavy swaths through the group of vamps. She stuck one of them with a dagger and the vampire exploded; her entire head was doused in black blood, and she quickly wiped her eyes.

“More like Spenda or Truvia, tall, scarred and deadly,” Buffy shot back. “

“Was I the only one who had a good time last night?!” he shouted above the Deadite’s complaints and growled demands.

“No and yes…it’s complicated!” She slashed a throat, kicked a head, jabbed a chest with the dagger. Deadites exploded left and right as she and Ash fought toward the cellar. “And because it’s complicated, I refuse to answer that question!”

“What?! Sex is the least complicated thing in the damn world!” Ash declared.

“Are you high?” She ducked a flying head and took a mouthful of orange blood.

Ash rolled his eyes. “How hard is it to figure out? Hey, tab b, have fun in slot a!” He snapped his metal fingers together, spun his gun by the trigger mount, and blasted a hole in another Deadite, jamming his blessed saw into the monster and turning it into pulp.

“Can you stop thinking about sex for two minutes?!” she yelled, kicking one Deadite directly into his pathway.

“Like you ever do!” The Deadite was soon missing a head.

She rolled her eyes! “This is business! Totally businessy and professional!” one made a close grab for her shoulder and she jerked away.

“Don’t let ‘em play tricks on you,” Ash hissed, jabbing his saw out at the remaining pod of vamps. Ash did what she could have predicted he would do – try to shove her out of the way as they advanced on them.

“Wow, you’re so classy,” she rolled her eyes. Buffy reached down for the trap door mounted smack-dab in the center of the cabin, pulled up the latch and hurtled down the cement steps, Ash heavy footfall clattering at her heel. She heard him close and lock the door behind her as she scanned the dark basement for the red-white glow of the furnace’s pilot light.

“The boiler has to be down in the…” that was when a metal fist clocked her, a blow so hard that it brought her to her knees. She glanced back over her shoulder just before Ash gave her a double-handed blow to the kidneys. The meaning of his previous words crashed in on her as she saw his teeth, his rotting skin and white eyes. Buffy rolled away, her feet jabbing at his midsection before she kipped up to her feet.

 _Watch out in case I turn._

“Ash,” she said commandingly, wielding the dagger in one hand and the scythe in the other, “don’t make me use this.”

“Buuufffyyyy,” the demon snarled, its crooked smile sending a volatile shiver through her form. “Joooin ussss!”

She dodged his punches, a thrown lawn chair, scrambling up onto a pile of cardboard boxes – Christmas decorations jingled sweetly underfoot. “I know you’re still in there,” she said, a fist raining down on the top of his head, making his body jerk in surprise. She kicked him hard enough to knock him into the earthen wall. Dirt and dust fell over Ash’s twisted features. “Remember Cheryl,” she demanded. “Your sister would want you to keep going. We know how hard she’d want you to fight. And….” Finally she admitted that, “I want you to keep going!”

The demon suddenly hesitated, twitching. It scratched its ears with sharp claws. “Why?” asked the demon, though his voice suddenly sounded more human. “Is the human so important to you?”

She sighed. “Because he can be a nice guy. Maybe he’s not classy or the smartest guy in the room, but he’s charming and when you dig deep down…deep down…under all of his loud, braggy kinda egotistical…self…he’s cool. He’s the kind of guy I could like…maybe even love….if he learns how to tone it down a little bit.” But the sentiment was real enough, and it seemed to get through to the demon.

“Oh,” the demon murmured. He winced, covering his eyes; he shuddered and growled, falling to his knees before raising his head and looking straight into her eyes. Ash’s expression cycled through fear, anxiety and confidence as his flesh once more took on the appearance of a youthful viggor. “Knew you’d admit it sometime, blondie.”

She rolled her eyes. “Can we burn the stupid book now?”

“Right.” He reached up, helping her off the ornaments. They both noticed the red light for the furnace at the same time. “That way.”

She followed him to the large heater, watching as Ash pulled the book from his back pocket and carefully jammed open the grate and pressed it to the heat source. It slowly started to smoke and singe.

“What about them?” he asked.

“We can fight our way out bad guy by gross, hairy bad guy,” she suggested, “or we can take them out all at once.”

Ash frowned. “How’re we supposed to do that?”

She grinned and said, “Give me your chainsaw.”

He handed it over, and his eyes narrowed as she took unscrewed the cap off the gas can. “Whatt’re you thinking?”

“Do you know how to blow a fireball?” She asked.

“Yeah, if I have to…gas in the mouth, man?” he whined.

“No, that would be stupid,” she said. “We’re going to put pieces of burning Nec into the paint cans and throw them at ‘em.” She grinned. “Siphoning makes you stupid. Gasoline bombs make you smart.”

He smirked. “That’s the chick I wanna keep banging like a screen door.” He frowned. “How the hell’re we gonna get back to the car, though?”

She grinned. “The old fashioned way.” She grabbed a chainsaw from the shelf and revved it to life, dragging the cans of paint with her. He holstered his gun and grabbed the merrily-burning Necronomicon.

His eyebrow rose. He smirked. “That’s groovy, baby. Real groovy.”

She rolled her eyes and elbowed the trap door open.

***

 _Six months later_

Ash checked his war wounds in the mirror of Happy’s Chuckle Hut for the fortieth time in an hour. Then he stared the door. His tie, the door, his face, the stage, and the door again.

She was late.

He glowered. His friends had always bitched about how awful long-distance relationships were, but between his assigned, newfound duties as guardian numero uno of Dearborn’s Hellmouth and Buffy’s job as head honcho of training off at the Watcher’s Council, their romance (and by extension sex lives) had been reduced to Ash writing awkward smush letters and Buffy sending him pack pictures of her tastefully and yet scantily clad.

And now she was two hours late.

The martinis were watered down as the twelve o’clock hour hit. He growled and dumped a fiver on the bar and had been turning to leave when a pretty blonde in a short black dress strode confidently up to him.

“My flight sucked and it was delayed two hours and I owe you a ton of drinking time, but,” she wrapped an arm around his neck. “Hi.”

How was she so good at making him forget just how pissed off he was? “Hi,” he said, wrapping an arm around her waist, then dipping and kissing her. “Miss me much, doll?’

She grinned. “You’re better to look at then a bunch of ticked-off watchers on the Council.”

“Thought so.”

She smiled into his neck. “So where’re we going?”

He took her by the hand. “Baby, let’s dance.”

They’d been on the floor for two minutes - most of their dancing involving Buffy moving beautifully while Ash gyrated spastically besider her - when the wind began blowing, the lights flickering, the patrons around them snarling their way out of the mortal coil and into their new lives as demon fodder.

But Ash and Buffy knew, without even exchanging words, what to do.

She had out her stake and he had his saw.

And, exchanging once sweet kiss, they leapt to the fray without fear.

THE END


End file.
